And once again my “reading days” (that’s what I just now decided to call the days of the week when I am not responsible for adding new content to our blog) have passed and I find myself sitting in front of a blank document at 11pm wondering what the heck to post about today. Are my internal monologues entertaining enough to carry an entire blog post? Maybe. But it would probably be better to have an ultimate purpose or plan or something for the essay/monologue. I have very serious doubts that anyone who reads PfP wants to hear about the hormone-influenced emotional roller coaster I’ve been on for the past few days, though I’ve been working out how to tell the tale at work—I lead with how ridiculous I was to my husband last night, saying such nonsense as “I don’t want you to cook for me or make coffee for me anymore. I can take care of myself. I don’t need your help.” Anyone who knows me and my husband knows that I do not cook. He cooks and he especially likes to cook for other people. I like to eat. It’s a symbiotic relationship. So starting a story about me wanting to remove my personal chef from my life it automatically absurd. And it continues from there. So what I’m trying to say is that there will be no update on The Bone Clocks until Thursday. And here, enjoy a picture of my cats.